It snowed today, the first decent snow this part of North Carolina has seen in two years. There was a little dusting of snow once last year, and a smattering of icy weather that sent cars off the road in Raleigh, but I'm not counting those. Two years ago, as Laura was in the final months of her life, we had a really cold winter--but no snow. One of the things she told me she wanted to see that winter was one more good, solid snowfall, something that would drape the world in white for at least an hour or two.
It never came. When it was cold, it was dry. When there were clouds, it was warm. January, February, and March rolled by, and I tried to encourage her, telling her that I'd seen April snowfalls before. But, of course, the only white on the ground in April were the flowers painting the spring fields.
Since then, any time I hear a forecast of snow, I can't help but think of Laura. I tried to be tuned in to her needs. Any time she expressed even a faint craving for some food, I'd hop in the car to go get it. When spring came early, she talked about wanting a new flower bed and her father and I made her one. But, snow was something I couldn't bring her, and it's tough to look out over the blanket of white tonight without feeling at least a little melancholly. This is the kind of snow she wanted to see.
It's a little peace and beauty settling over the world, a little tranquility, at least until dawn. I'm glad I've learned the right way to look at it.
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